


Ride: Chapter Twenty-One

by elisa_pie, pinto_round_robin



Series: Ride [21]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisa_pie/pseuds/elisa_pie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinto_round_robin/pseuds/pinto_round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you say one word about not being in Kansas anymore, I swear I will throw away the rest of those disgusting chips. I didn’t even know that they came in that flavor.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride: Chapter Twenty-One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to semperama for the encouragement and pointing out the tense slips!

Zach blinks in the pale morning light, feeling warm and content. He takes in his surroundings: the fading yellow curtains, the slightly too soft mattress underneath him, the warmth of the body lying next to him. Chris is on his stomach, his face turned away. The back of his neck is still red from the sun, but the skin further down his back is paler, freckles and birthmarks creating irregular patterns on the skin. Like constellations, Zach thinks as he reaches out and traces their paths with the tip of his finger.

“What're you doing?” Chris mumbles against the pillow, attempting to move away. Zach is having none of that. He presses Chris back into the mattress by pushing more firmly at the tempting skin underneath his fingertips.

“Hush. I’m exploring.”

That makes Chris giggle, which turns into a yelp when Zach’s fingers brush against his sides.

“Ticklish?” Zach grins.

Chris’s answer is just an inarticulate mumble against his pillow.

Zach moves his hands to safer territory, sliding his fingers down along Chris’s spine and Chris sinks back into the mattress, a contented sigh escaping his lips. Zach settles closer, his focus now entirely on the expanse of skin before him.

Eventually Zach lets his palms slide over the tempting mounds covered by the sheet. He itches to explore it more, but he’s careful of the fragile balance they have found, uncertain whether he should disturb it by attempting to go further than gently massaging the firm flesh underneath his hands. He wants Chris to be entirely comfortable with it, if, when, they ever go there. There will be plenty of time later, Zach tells himself. All the time they need. For now, he slides his hands back up along the broad expanse of Chris’s back, kneading the muscles and delighting in Chris’s indulgent groan.

All of a sudden Zach can imagine himself, months and years from now, tracing Chris’s skin like this, a constant creation of new pathways, a map of his desire. The thought of all the future marks he’ll lavish on this canvas leaves him breathless, his hands somewhat less steady as they trace the fine hair along Chris’s spine, the shape of his shoulder blades, imagining waking up next to Chris every morning.

Chris begins to wiggle, his ass lifting up for a tantalizing moment before his lower body presses back down against the mattress.

“Can I turn around now? I really wanna kiss you.”

Not waiting for an answer, Chris turns on his back and smiles up at Zach, his features still softened by sleep, with pillow creases along his left cheek. His eyes are intently focused on Zach though, like he can’t bear to look anywhere else. When Zach leans down for the kiss, Chris’s mouth is warm and pliable under his lips.

***

The journey through the small corner of Kansas takes no longer than fifteen minutes, even with the pickup truck which is probably older than they are. Most of that stretch of the journey is spent arguing about Chris’s choice of snacks. Zach thinks they make the car smell even worse than it already does. Chris thinks they’re awesome. Seriously, lasagna flavored potato chips? Best invention ever.

As they pass the sign at the border, Chris makes a delighted sound around his mouthful of chips.

“Zach, we’re n-”

“If you say one word about not being in Kansas anymore, I swear I will throw away the rest of those disgusting chips. I didn’t even know that they came in that flavor.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that these are a rare delicacy. Probably imported from somewhere,” Chris replies, grinning. “Besides, I don’t have to say anything, man. I think you just did.”

Zach groans, turning away, but not before Chris catches the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Idiot,” Zach says, the gentle tone nearly drowned out by the roar of the engine.

It sounds so much like an endearment, an admission of whatever is blossoming between them, that Chris’s heart squeezes almost painfully in his chest. When Zach looks back at him, Chris can’t stop smiling, his cheeks hurting with it. Zach smiles too, and for a moment they just beam at each other. Chris has a hard time keeping his eyes on the road, he just wants to soak in the warmth of Zach’s smile. For the hundredth time, Chris curses their current mode of transportation. He wants to throw his arm on the backrest and have Zach curled up against him on the seat, to feel the closeness of that morning, both physical and emotional. Their seats are too far apart to even hold hands comfortably, or that’s what Chris tells himself. He’s still not sure if that’s something Zach would want. After a while they settle into a mostly comfortable silence.

It’s nothing like how Chris had pictured this part of the journey, at home and hunched over an actual paper map twice the size of the sofa table he’d been balancing it on. He isn’t cruising along at 75 miles an hour in his Bel Air on an empty road, pining for his best friend and looking for a place to eat and stay the night. Instead, he’s making his way towards Springfield in an ancient pickup truck with Zach trying and failing to stay awake on the seat beside him, whatever they feel for each other almost a tangible weight in the air between them. 

He can still feel the ghost of Zach’s fingertips on his skin, drawing random shapes and driving him crazy. The sex that had followed had been amazing, but Chris had almost liked the touching more than what came after it. He can’t remember the last time someone had touched him like that, with such a deliberate tenderness, like he was something to be worshiped. His stomach flips at the memory. If only it could be like that all the time, that easy and uncomplicated.

Their eventual destination had seemed so far to be virtually nonexistent when they left California, but now the end seems near, too near. Chris wants to avoid it, and everything it means, just for a little while longer. Perhaps a detour to the south east direction. Memphis might be an interesting place to visit. Anything to delay the inevitable return to reality, to the chance that their relationship won’t last after the trial run. However slim that chance might be, it’s enough to make Chris worried.

He’s distracted from his thoughts by the static coming from the radio and reaches out to adjust the channel. Zach blinks awake at the sound of snippets from different radio stations flickering back to static as Chris fiddles with the controls. He’s half-resigned to turning it off when he finds a classic rock station that has just started to play Born to Run.

Chris hums through the first verse and by the chorus he’s singing along, loud and happy, as Zach shakes his head.

“C’mon Zach, it’s a road trip, we have to have a Springsteen sing-a-long. That’s just how it is.”

Zach’s smile is soft, whether from sleep or because of him, Chris isn’t sure.

“Oh god, you’re such a cliche.”

“That I am. But you love me anyway.”

“Yeah.” Zach pauses. “Yeah, I do.”

Chris feels that flip in his stomach again at that, followed by a relief that feels like a drug. When he goes back to singing and Zach joins him, their voices echoing in the truck, Chris feels like he can do anything.


End file.
